


Brother's Keeper

by Lenore



Category: Minority Report (TV 2015)
Genre: Incest, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rescue, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Dash gets trapped in the victim's experience of a crime, and Arthur is the only one who knows how to rescue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother's Keeper

They don't talk after the bad ones. The times when they misinterpret. Miss a clue. Chase shadows. When they get there too late. Like today. It's a ritual of sorts, the silent ride home afterward, the air thick with should-have and if-only. 

Vega stares out at the road ahead, keeping a careful eye on traffic, hands firmly on the wheel although the car can pilot itself. This is how she deals with the inevitable failures, becoming more purposeful, more coolly professional. Dash is glad at least that she's not paying attention to him, can't see how he grips the door handle, hard enough that his knuckles turn white. _We're not partners. You're not even trained_ , she still tells him that sometimes. He doesn't want to give her any more reasons to doubt him. 

After everything he's seen, he's not sure why there are some deaths that still have the power to shake him. Perhaps because this was a child. Or because his mother's expression was so cruelly bewildered. She kept shaking her head and saying, "No, no, it can't be. He knows he's not supposed to go to the park alone. We haven't even given him his aeroskates yet. They're for his birthday." 

The vision unreels again behind Dash's eyes, and he should force it away, make himself think about something, anything else. It's too dangerous to get caught up in his own head, but there's a part of him that keeps wondering: What did we miss? How could it have ended differently?

The mother was right. Her son did know he wasn't supposed to go to the park by himself, but when he found the skates—he told himself he'd be back before his parents got home from work. The skates were so fast, and the boy had flown along, the rush of air making him giddy and breathless. Dash watches the boy's face, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, his expression ecstatic, _free_. That's something Dash has never experienced himself and likely never will, except suddenly he is, because he's not watching anymore. 

_Oh fuck_.

Maybe he says that out loud, because Vega is definitely paying attention to him now. "Dash?" She shifts her gaze from the road to him, a pinch of concern between her eyes. "Are you all right?"

He's really not. This hasn't happened to him in such a long time—falling into a crime victim's experience and getting stuck there—and he panics, desperately trying to pull himself out of the vision. But he keeps slipping further. The park's trees and grass blur into an indistinct stream of green as he keeps skating, picking up speed. For just a moment, he guilty imagines his mother's voice: _What have we said about going to the park by yourself?_ But the hesitation is quickly gone. He doesn't stop, doesn't turn back, doesn't go home. 

"Hey, what's going on with you?" Vega's voice cuts across the vision, distant and staticky.

Dash is still streaking along, even faster now. He feels like he could go on forever, but suddenly one of the skates lurches, sputters and stalls. The anti-grav feature keeps him from wiping out, but his parents are going to kill him if he can't fix the skate. 

When a man stops to help, he's too grateful to listen to the little voice in his head warning him: _Don't talk to strangers_. 

"Dash," Vega says more urgently, and when he doesn't answer, she touches his arm. He jolts back to himself so violently it hurts. Shock makes him stare. No one has ever been able to pull him out of a feedback loop but Arthur, not even Agatha. 

"Talk to me," Vega urges, her voice low and serious. 

A part of him wants to. Explain it all. Because she touched him and pulled him back. How is that even possible when she isn't a precog? But no. He can't take the risk. Can't give her any reasons to dissolve their fragile partnership. 

She frowns at him. "Maybe I should come in with you."

Only then does Dash realize they're parked outside his building. For a moment, he considers asking Vega to take him to Arthur, but when he thinks about what Arthur will do, how they always solve this problem, heat stings his cheeks. There are things that make sense on the island, but in the wider world—they can't do that here. And anyway, everything is already too messy with Arthur. 

"I'm fine," he tells Vega.

"You don't look fine," she counters.

He gives her a shaky smile. "I'll see later."

"Dash," she says as he's pulling himself out of the car. "At least—that man can't hurt anyone else. We stopped him."

Just not soon enough. They both know it. 

In the elevator, he grips the handrail, focuses on the here and now, cataloguing the little sensory details: the tackiness under foot where something's been spilled, yellow cast of the pot lights in the ceiling, a leftover whiff of somebody's Kung Pao. But the anchoring effect of Vega's touch is quickly fading. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. A clammy sensation coils in the pit of his stomach. The edges of his consciousness start to flicker and blur, and he's slipping sideways, the gravitational pull of the vision harder and harder to fight.

 _Arthur_. The word sounds almost prayerful in Dash's head, which would make his brother smug—smugger anyway—if he knew. 

Dash fumbles with the lock to his door; the knob feels palpable beneath his hand and then it doesn't. _My apartment's not far from here. I've got tools there. We can fix your skate._ Dash stumbles inside, panic buzzing in his blood. He's already seen what happens. He knows how it ends. If he could remotely imagine a god, he'd pray in earnest, because maybe it makes him a coward, but please, _please_ , he doesn't want to live through that. 

In his confusion, he doesn't realize he's not alone until a hand grabs him roughly by the arm. The impact is immediate, a lifeline pulling Dash to safety, and he wants to sob in relief. 

"You weren't going to come to me," Arthur says flatly, no question in his voice. 

Dash wasn't, and he had his reasons, but they seem ridiculous even in just these few minutes of hindsight. Survival instinct has kicked in, and all that matters is not falling, not getting lost. He scrabbles at Arthur's shoulders, trying to get closer, to cling onto the only thing that feels real when the visions try to suck him under. 

Arthur sighs, the sound of brotherly exasperation as intimately familiar as the strong arms he wraps around Dash's waist to anchor him. "Why do you do this to yourself, little brother?"

Words are beyond Dash right now, and there'd be no point anyway. Arthur and Agatha have never understood that for Dash the only thing worse than not being able to save people is not even trying. 

"Come on," Arthur urges. "This works better lying down."

Dash's head swims as Arthur walks him the few steps to the bed. _The park is getting darker. The man's hand curves around his shoulder. It's not far now, he says, as they walk deeper into the trees. Almost there._

"Stop it," Arthur says sharply, and he pushes Dash onto the bed, lies heavily on top of him. "You're not there. You're here with me." 

_You're mine_. Arthur doesn't say that, but then he doesn't have to. They've always belonged to each other. 

Every point of contact makes Dash want more, and Arthur doesn't need to be told. He skims off his own shirt and Dash's. The warmth of skin, press of their chests makes Dash sigh. Whatever hesitations he had seem very far away now. It doesn't matter that no one else would understand this. They aren't like anyone else. 

Arthur finishes stripping off their clothes so there's nothing between them. Who knows how he first figured out that this was what it took to pull Dash out of a feedback loop? Dumb luck maybe, or a twin's instinct, or maybe Arthur just thinks sex is the solution to everything. Dash presses his face against Arthur's neck and breathes in his familiar smell, a bittersweet reminder that they're one mind in two bodies and he'll never be entirely whole on his own. 

The vision resurges, swamping him, threatening to pull him under. _The man in the park grabs at him, wrenches his arm. He cries out, tries to kick, struggles to get free_. Arthur presses Dash into the bed, bites him on the neck hard enough to sting, asserting ownership. A different image flashes through Dash's head, a memory, one of Arthur's. One of Dash's too. 

In the early days on the island, they all stumbled along, learning how to live in the world again, how to exist in their own minds, their own bodies. Dash remembers how he and Arthur would steal off together although of course Agatha knew. She just pretended not to. They always went to the same spot, a natural hiding place formed in the underbrush. There they'd take off their clothes and stretch out on an old army blanket, spend the afternoon lazily satisfying their curiosity, learning what their bodies could do. 

Arthur's voice brings Dash back to the present. "You thought I wouldn't help you?" His eyes shine fiercely as he rubs their bodies together. 

Dash shakes his head. So many things are complicated with Arthur, but this one thing will always be clear: Arthur will never let anyone or anything hurt Dash, not if he can help it. Arthur must feel that through their connection, because he presses his hand against Dash's cheek and kisses him deeply. 

It's hard to say how much closeness is really necessary for Dash to get lost in his brother instead of the visions. But they have their ritual, always the same. Arthur strings kisses down Dash's chest, across his belly, tongues the line of hair, before taking Dash's cock into his mouth. He holds Dash's gaze as he goes down, eyes glinting, because he knows everything about Dash's body and he's smug about it. Knows to stroke his thumb maddeningly slowly along the sensitive skin behind Dash's balls, to rub lightly at his hole as he takes him deep into his throat.

The vision has receded, and everything feels good. They're so open to each other, and for just a split second something slips through that Arthur doesn't intend him to see. _We should tell Dash. Agatha's face is bleak, scared. Not until we know his role in this._ Dash stiffens, starts to pull way, but Arthur tighten his hands on Dash's hips, fingers digging in, throat working, until all Dash can think about is his brother's mouth, the reciprocal sense of pleasure he can feel coming from Arthur. It's been too long, and Dash comes faster than he wants to. 

Arthur stretches out next to him, arm curved around his shoulders, and Dash leans in to kiss him. He can taste himself on Arthur's tongue, and he gets tangled up in Arthur's memory of sucking him, how much he liked it, how no one else has ever tasted like Dash. 

Dash kisses him more desperately. 

By now, the vision is just the palest flicker at the edges of Dash's consciousness. They could stop, and Dash would probably be okay. But they have their ritual, and Dash doesn't want to stop. Arthur knows that. Of course he does.

He's thought to bring lube, because that's Arthur. Always prepared. Dash can't help sighing at the slick touch of his fingers. They haven't done this in all the time they've been in the city. Dash hasn't done anything with anyone, and he pulls at Arthur's shoulders, urging him on. He likes it to hurt a little, and they're already so close, but they can still be closer. Arthur sinks into him, and they slide into each other's minds. It's so familiar, so good, and as they fuck, all the things they can never say are perfectly understood between them. 

Dash has no idea what to expect after they've come and lay breathless and sweaty against the sheets. They have their ritual: Arthur stays, making sure the vision doesn't come back. That was on the island, though. Things are different here. Or maybe not. Arthur shifts onto his side and drapes an arm across Dash's waist. The sense of connection is still there, a little muted but still comforting. 

Arthur kisses Dash's neck. "Go to sleep."

Dash doesn't drift off so much as plummet, and when he wakes up again, he has no idea how long he was out. It feels like hours, days. The bed is empty next to him, sheets thrown back, and he's not sure why he expected otherwise. Except—is that coffee he smells?

Arthur appears in the doorway, mug in hand. He must have gone out to the store. Dash forgets to eat. There's never any milk in the refrigerator. Arthur is showered, dressed, remade in the image of a successful estate planner. 

"I need to go. I have a meeting." He hands over the mug. 

"Okay." Dash takes a sip and looks up at him. "Thanks." He doesn't mean for the coffee.

Arthur takes Dash's jaw in his hand, fingers tight, and lifts his chin. "You don't have to do this. They're not worth it."

"They are to me," Dash says softly. He scrunches up his forehead as he thinks about what he saw in Arthur's head, Agatha's vision. "But I wouldn't—ever—"

Arthur gives Dash a long, speculative look, and says at last, "If this cop is going to be your partner, then she's going to need to learn how to be your anchor. I might not always get there in time, and she does seem to have the natural ability."

"What—she—" Dash sputters, caught off guard. It seems Arthur wasn't the only one who let something slip through that he didn't mean to reveal. 

Suddenly Dash is uncomfortably aware of the morning-after disarray of the bed, the telltale soreness in sensitive parts of his body. He imagines if Vega—if they—his cheeks go instantly hot.

Arthur's grin makes him blush even harder. "I'm sure she'd teach you a lot. But there's more than one way to be an anchor. Our way just happens to work for us." 

"Will you—" Dash doesn't even know what he wants to ask. Maybe: are you telling me this, because it's the end of something? Or: why won't you join me, so we can help more people and always be whole together?

Arthur leans in and kisses Dash softly on the mouth. "Be careful, little brother." 

After he's gone, Dash puzzles over what those parting words meant. He could interpret them about a dozen different ways, and probably none of them would be right, so he doesn't even try. He leans back against the pillows and drinks his coffee.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Origins and Brother's Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273423) by [Podcath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podcath/pseuds/Podcath)




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